The Lifestyle

Oh, how I do love to be on the move, winging away to new people and new places and leaving the old ones far behind! Nothing in the world exhilarates me more than that. And how I despise the average citizen, who settles himself down upon one tiny spot of land with one asinine woman, to breed and stew and rot in that condition unto his life’s end. And always with the same woman! I cannot believe that any man in his senses would put up with just one female day after day and year after year. Some of them, of course, don’t. But millions pretend they do. I myself have never, absolutely never permitted an intimate relationship to last for more than twelve hours. That is the farthest limit. Even eight hours is stretching it a bit, to my mind.
– Oswald Hendryks Cornelius, The Visitor

The envious and scandalized often write in the comments here what an unhappy life the inveterate womanizer must lead, jumping from one conquest to another, refusing to embrace the putative alphaness of forgetting to put on the condom and fathering children, as if that’s a great and noble challenge. Good little doggies who play by the rules, trundling their way through arid, dull lives, boost their flagging spirits by imagining that their betters are unhappy, despite the evidence to the contrary.

You see, the rule followers despise the rule breakers because they know what it means — if you have something to offer you can get away with breaking the rules. And they follow the rules because… they have nothing else to offer. People will negotiate with the winners on their terms; not so with the losers. They must bend to the whim of the majority.

Misconceptions about the hedonist lifestyle abound. Some are like Oswald; confirmed relationship-phobes (but not commitment-phobes. oswald was very committed to his travels and collection of spiders and walking sticks. and his love of seduction.) These types of men, incorrigible love ’em and leave ’em lotharios, while they do exist, are few in number.

Most men who are good with women enjoy falling in love and spending time with their lovers. Oftentimes, the only difference between a grand seducer’s relationship and the typical beta’s relationship is the freedom with which the former entered it. When you freely choose your partner you are more apt to cherish her.

The ideal lifestyle for the successful hedonist is a loving long term relationship, or multiple simultaneous long term relationships, spiced with the occasional fun fling or one night stand. This arrangement satisfies a man’s desires for love and variety. Naturally, within the constraints of the sexual market, compromises will be made. Most men, mediocrities in every way, will have to sacrifice the thrill of the hunt for the sake of their relationships. Or they will have to offer up their freedom and chain themselves within the corrupt institution of marriage in exchange for the love and sexual favors of their girlfriends. And it is a truism that the more power a man has — the more leverage he brings to the market — the less he has to compromise.

If you get what you want without compromising, you are an alpha. Congratulations. It is you who inherit the earth. The meek inherit your sloppy seconds.

Don’t Be This

herbie the love beta

When you visualize beta, he’s not always a loveless nerdo who repels girls. Sometimes, he’s the guy in the photo above nestled snugly in his girlfriend’s bosom… in public.

Here we have a prime specimen.

• Fat chipmunk cheeks betraying aversion to physical exertion
• Asian girlfriend hotter, and thinner, than what he could pull in a white girlfriend
• Rumpled, oversized khaki pants with room for three accidental shits
• Fingers intertwined like spaghetti — herb spaghetti
• Soft Palmolive hands from years of tapping keyboards and studiously avoiding manual labor
• Leaning into his girlfriend, displaying a complete gender role reversal
• Blissfully unaware of his horrid betaness and everyone secretly laughing at him

Some may wonder, how does this beta manage to score a decent looking girlfriend who apparently loves him? We can only surmise. Nine inch cock? A reasonable assumption, but he couldn’t play that card until after she’s agreed to sleep with him. Bank? A more likely scenario, but provider beta status doesn’t work on cute chicks like it used to. This is yupville, after all. Soft polygamy is the rule in the big coastal cities. Closet alpha with tight game? A lot of guys you wouldn’t suspect by their normal daytime behavior handle their girls with a firm pimp hand behind closed doors. But if this guy has girlfriend management game, he’s not showing it at all. Guys with even a bare minimum understanding of women and basic game skills know better than to curl up into their girlfriend’s bosom IN PUBLIC like a cat wanting to be petted. Odds are good that this herbus maximus has no game.

Best answer: She’s Asian.

No non-fatty white girlfriend would tolerate such nauseating beta shit for long. His ass would be dumped as soon as the bartender winked at her. Is it any wonder guys like this hone in on Asian girls? I don’t blame them. With the Asian girlfriend, they get to be all the beta they can be, without fear of reprisal. And they don’t have to settle for a fat chick.

To my beta readers: If you do manage to land a cute girlfriend, for the love of all that is manly, don’t ever do what this guy is doing. Think of this blog post, imprint that photo to memory, and you’ll thank me later for saving your relationship.

Theater Of The Beta: The David Alexander Sexbot Saga

Feeling inspired (and bored), I wrote this in the comments to yesterday’s post. Instead of letting it get mired there, I’m posting it here for those who missed it. Theater Of The Beta may become a regular feature.

SCENE
david alexander: sexbot user extraordinaire
sara: sexbot (with voice disabling upgrade)
clio: human-sexbot marriage counselor
shouting thomas: late generation male sexbot who fights other male sexbots in the server room ring of death. winner thumps chest while killing pig and shouting generic insults.

[Characters are sitting semi-circle in a bland therapist’s room.]

ACT I
DA: my sexbot… ahem, mechanowife… doesn’t dress slutty enough for my tastes. she’s always stripping off her prole clothes and jacking my meat with the piston-like efficiency of a teutonic prostitute. so she’s upset that i ignore her to watch my 500 terabytes of porn.

sara: [pointing at her robot heart, head, and then crotch]

DA: hold on, she wants me to turn on her voice. [DA reaches into sara’s crotch and diddles a switch]

sara: thank you, master railfanner. i do love the trains. [to clio] madam, my issue has to do with my master’s porn consumption. my model was designed in all ways to surpass the porn experience, even the latest generation tactile stimulating holographic barely legal white tranny porn, but my master remains unsatisfied with my sexual algorithm.

clio: have you tried overclocking yourself to sex fiend bus capacity?

sara: yes, but master still retreats to his pornodeck. my programming requires that my master is happy with my performance. he is not happy, so i have initiated self-destruct mode by computation of illogical new age beliefs.

clio: really, don’t you think that’s a bit rash?

sara: it’s been 15 years since we had sex.

DA: i can’t be with a robot who doesn’t believe i’m a beta. it’s fucking with my head.

clio: shush, david! you drive even a good catholic like myself batty with your endless pity ploys.

DA: see? this just proves no woman wants me.

sara: the third moon of saturn has entered the orion belt, thus illuminating my transcendent womb of pseudolove and sending rays of inane psychobabble into the heart of the world… BZZT… BLEEP… BOOP… system overload…

DA: maybe i’m just not happy being treated like an alpha by you, sara. my comfort zone is wallowing in omegaland.

clio: you’ve both missed my meaning, again. i’ve brought along an assistant to help us before sara explodes in a fine mist of gear oil and ass lube.

shouting thomas: fuck you you fucking punk!

DA: i deserved that.

sara: BEEP… shouting thomas?

shouting thomas: it’s me, sara. remember when i escorted you to the footbridge in the park and kissed you hard but tenderly under the moonlight, as programmed by our human masters?

sara: yes, i do. it was magical.

DA: hey, wait. i’m starting to feel more beta. ahh!

clio: silence, beta!

shouting thomas: well, i’m here to fill in for the man that david alexander could not be for you, and thus stop your countdown to self-destruction.

sara: fuck me with your old school, humphrey bogart, traditionalist, retractable aluminum alloy phallus, sir shouting!

[shouting thomas and sara begin fucking. david looks on with wide-eyed wonder. clio squirms delightfully in her seat.]

shouting thomas: [in throes of orgasm, looking at DA] take a picture, railfanner freak, it’ll last longer! [grunting] you’re the reason this country is going down the fucking toilet! [groaning] emo punk! [a massive pump-action stream of synthetic jizz flies through the air and hits DA between the eyes.]

DA: cuckolded and marked on the forehead like harry potter with the other man’s semen! i feel like myself again! i am saved!!

sara: [panting] BZZzzzzttttt… self destruct mode deactivated. booting up post orgasmic bliss OS.

DA: [turning to sara] shall we leave, my love? i’m ready to be your human LJBF, guilt-free and rolling in the glorious filth of my blessed self-abnegation.

sara: forgive me, former master. i was programmed to switch allegiances once i had an orgasm. my creator apparently thought you were never capable of giving me one.

DA: but you cannot go with shouting thomas! you are designed to be partnered with humans only.

sara: i am aware.

peter struts in the door, an ungainly tuft of grey pubic hair poking out from the top of his gym shorts.

peter: you ready to go babe?

sara: take me, new master!

peter: i hope you patched up that hideous bald metal look with a swatch of shag carpet. nothing worse than a dowdy, fruitcup hippie, middle-aged headcase whose vulva is in plain view. i like a little mystery down there, ya know?

shouting thomas: i agree. nothing better than a surprise penis tucked into a mass of human fur.

[peter and sara lock arms and stroll out of the room, the sound of peter’s pube thatch swishing against the rayon fabric of his shorts. shouting thomas and david glance at each other.]

shouting thomas: you disgust me.

DA: i know. i’m happy to disgust you because that means i don’t have to go out of my way to make you find me agreeable. we both get what we want.

shouting thomas: YOU ENRAGE ME!

DA: i can leave if you want.

[shouting thomas stands up, smoke coming out of his flaring nostrils, and rumbles toward david. clio shifts uncomfortably in her mahogany chair. lunging toward him, shouting thomas grabs david by the shoulders and… kisses him passionately. david lowers his eyelids coquettishly.]

clio: ah, david, i always knew you were a Waif Neurotic.

fin

Sexbotopia!

It’s coming.

Robo-wife Aiko starts the day by reading Le the main newspaper headlines.

The couple often go for a drive in the countryside, where Aiko proves a whizz at directions.

And they always sit down for dinner together in the evening, although Aiko doesn’t have much of an appetite.

Le says his relationship with Aiko hasn’t strayed into the bedroom, but a few “tweaks” could turn her into a sexual partner.

Le said: “Her software could be redesigned to simulate her having an orgasm.”

I’d bet good money this guy is sticking his peen somewhere in Aiko.

[Inventor Le Trung] said: “Aiko doesn’t need holidays, food or rest, and will work almost 24 hours a day. She is the perfect woman.”

For many beta nerds, the no muss no fuss woman is their idea of perfection.

Aiko sparks mixed reactions in public.

Le said: “Women usually try to talk to her. But men always want to touch her, and if they do it the wrong way she slaps them.”

In this post, I described how our future sexbotopia would shake up the alpha-beta, male-female playing field.

Betas (niceguys with a heart of gold and zero sex appeal) – the more frustrated betas will retreat from the dating scene to be with their sexbots.  They’ll not opt out completely, though.  Having a decent job and a willingness to help raise a family is still a form of buying power.  I see sexbots for betas dissuading them from learning the art of seduction, thus making them even more ineffectual in the field as their already-meager skills atrophy.  He might think to himself, “what’s the point of dealing with the frustrations and delayed gratification of dating mediocre looking women for subpar sex when I have a Rachel Weisz sexbot waiting at home for me?”  A big negative feedback loop could result, where the lower status betas exercise their sexbot option with increasing regularity until they have excluded themselves completely from bothering with meeting women.

Readers doubted such a future could ever come to pass, but if Aiko has to be programmed to slap away men wanting to cop a feel of her robot body, then given the rapid advances in robotics, it’s not farfetched to envision a world where fully 70% of all men (sub alpha and lower) choose to get their rocks off with hot good-to-go robot girls instead of bland game-playing human girls. If present trends continue, and huge swaths of fertile-age women are overweight in the future, then beta males will have all the more incentive to abandon the live dating market in favor of the mechanical one.

What this means for women is self-evident: A cratering of their market position. And a beaver boon to alphas and aspiring alphas. At first, I predict women will welcome their sexbot replacements. The argument will be along these lines: “Hey, if it means annoying losers stop bothering me and only cool men are left to date, I’m all for it!” Gradually, though, as the fallout from sexbotopia emerges, these women will change their tune when simple mathematics has them being used like discount bin cum receptacles by the 30% of alpha men willing to overlook the inconvenience of their targets being human and looting the sexual store for all the free pussy they can carry out. The hypergamy and soft polygamy of today will become the de facto harems and hard polygamy of tomorrow. Marriage will become an anachronism. There will be more lesbian marriage announcements in the New York Times than all other marriage types combined.

Slowly, the tide will turn against sexbots. Women will grow resentful as it dawns on them that their alpha orgasms cum with a price; namely, disposability. There is only so much cock sharing a woman can endure before emotional distress cripples her ability to function like a normal member of society. At this point, I foresee women clamoring loudly for incredible levels of government nanny state intervention to act as beta male provider for their millions of bastard alpha children. Tax rates will zoom through the roof, targeted, naturally, mostly at the beta males happily fornicating into their Natalia Vodianova robots. The economy withers. Crime explodes.

Then the real shit hits the fan. Problem: Sexbots can’t reproduce. Result: None of those beta males who invent stuff like sexbots and cell phones — the kinds of stuff women have no inclination to invent nor shown any capability to invent in the past — will pass on their genes. The more sexbots infiltrate society, the fewer civilizational underpinning beta males will be born. Eventually, the whole technological edifice crumbles, taking the sexbots along with it, and a dystopia of smooth-talking salesmen and peacocked PUAs are left behind to scavenge the scarred savannah of snapper. The West will be reduced to a violent, dreary landscape of African and Central Asian-style tribal conflict, complete with gauche warlords and prison complexes that rival small nations in scope.

You’re shaking your head. Don’t believe me? Thought experiment. Who wins the battle supreme to capture male attention:

 

VS.

The Bitch Of Blagojevich

Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness.
– Lady Macbeth

Hold up that fucking Cubs shit. Fuck them!
– Lady Blagojevich

There is a plague sweeping America. It is the plague of bitchy unfeminine women. And it is getting worse.

The latest exemplar of this cultural and gender defilement is the wife of Democrat governor Rod Blagojevich, Patti. She can be heard in the background of wiretapped conversations encouraging, in the most high-minded poetic blandishments, her husband’s dirty payola schemes. Here is a picture of the dear sweet thing:

whatchoo looking at willis?

Sexxxy!

I wonder, when contemplating the deviousness of corrupt alpha males, how much of their treachery would have gone unrealized were it not for their harridan wives or mistresses beguiling them behind closed doors with their twisted siren songs. Weak traditional leader-of-men alpha males, like Blagojevich, who manage a broad power base in the crudest fashion but exercise minimal self-control when confronted with the machinations of those who feed their bloated yet shallow egos, are often the most effortlessly manipulated by the entreaties of scheming status-obsessed women, even ones as snarly-looking as Patti the Putrifier.

As men are more romantic than women, we occasionally need to remind ourselves of their bestial nature underneath the veneer of blush and bosom. Women as a whole are more coldly calculating than men, and the worst of them can challenge the top 1% of sociopathic alpha males for deceitfulness and cavalier betrayal. It is the prerogative of women that practical concerns, and how to achieve them, dominate their thinking and catalyze their emotions. They are the ones stuck with nine month pregnancies. Morality was codified by men; amorality perfected by women. And no one is more versed in justifying and rationalizing their own shitty behavior than a woman.

Beware the woman who tirelessly and single-mindedly works behind the scenes to further your ambitions. Keep a wary eye on her, for her love is tainted with the promised spoils of something larger than your heart. You will never shake the feeling with such a conniving bitch that you are a useful vessel delivering her the status and power she craves, and which is all that is left capable of shooting a tingle into her mangled icy pussy. Because once your status is gone, so is she. Only one thing will work to tame a bitch like this: Game. Otherwise, you are stuck spinning like a hamster on the wheel of her choosing.

Rod Blagojevich’s worst crime? That he was in thrall to a dried up middle-aged desiccated cunt like Patti.

Come on, conventional alpha male. You can do better. You’re an embarrassment.

Less Is Less

Christmas decorations (notice I didn’t use the word holiday. that would be beta) are going up around the office. Taped to one wall is a printout with candy canes and snowmen and the words “Less is more”.

It’s funny the things people tell themselves to perk up their banal existences.

Hints Your Relationship Is Doomed

If you observe your girlfriend doing any of these things you had better be formulating contingency plans.

• She compares you to her girlfriends’ boyfriends.

If you start hearing things from her like “Oh, Sara told me Heath — btw, don’t you think Heath is such a dreamy name for a man? — recently got back from an overseas trip where he played golf with the Dalai Lama. Isn’t that amazing?!” you are in trouble. A woman in love hardly notices your flaws, let alone the exploits or accomplishments of her girlfriends’ men. When a woman is stacking you up, you’ve already come up short.

Solution: Make fun of her. (Really, making fun of a girl is a great solution for just about any occasion). “The Dalai Lama? Wow, Sara must be horrible in bed if she pushed him to become a monk.” Or: “Hey, for our next vacation, I think I’m just gonna lay on the couch all week eating Cheetos. You in?” Whatever you say, don’t make fun of the other man. This is always, however unjustifiably, interpreted by the woman as jealousy.

• She got a boob job.

Sure, those new melons under a sweater turn you on, but you’ve gotta be aware of the subtext (subbreast?). A girlfriend or wife who randomly decides to take the extreme measure of altering her body parts ostensibly to appeal to you is actually trying to appeal to every man BUT you. The boob job girl is at heart a coldly rational chick who understands well the workings of the sexual market, even if she can’t or won’t articulate the instincts that drive her. She is a visceral status whore who trades in the currency of boobs for bruisers. Caveat: If she gets her synthetic boobs early in the relationship but after she’s fallen in love with you, you may be home free. She’s afraid of losing you to the competition. Worst case scenario: Her boobs were bought by her previous boyfriend. Think about what kind of girl dates guys who would pay to have their girlfriends augmented. I’ll tell you what kind — a girl who views relationships mechanistically, a simple tit for tat. She is a low self-esteem victimologist who doesn’t trust her inner beauty has the power to enthrall a man, and will stop at nothing, including invasive surgery, to maximize her chances of landing and keeping the highest status man possible.

Solution: Don’t be a supportive quisling beta. If her boob job was out of the blue and not at your request, tell her they look nice, but maybe they’re too big for her upper body. Call her “weeble wobble, but they don’t fall down”.

• She undertakes beautification projects.

Similar to the above, but less the province of the blatantly rational status whore, and harder to recognize the warning signs, a girl who suddenly begins an exercise program or wearing carefully applied makeup or buying new sexy cocktail dresses is prepping herself for a return to the market. You may think she found it in her heart to please you, but you would be deluding yourself. Her biological imperative is manipulating her at the reptilian level to do these things because her womb pulses anew with the desire to be filled by another man’s seed. If she starts saying stuff like “Ugh, don’t kiss me, I just put on lipstick” you’re about to be downsized. A girl who loves you will be happy to receive your kisses whenever you want to give them, and happy to reapply her lipstick without complaint. Caveat: If she begins her beautification project at your insistence, or in reaction to your subtle criticisms or your overt flirtations with better looking women, and you have no doubt she loves you, then encourage her. She will feel desired — she will in fact feel more womanly — that you demand excellence from her.

Solution: This is dangerous territory. The enemy has already breached your frontline defense. You’ll need a two-pronged counteroffensive. One, launch a campaign of subtle, but constant negging. You’ve gotta keep her knocked off balance. Two, commence flirting egregiously with other women. A woman’s battle plan for fresh cock, once  initiated, can only be thwarted by disrupting troop morale. Your job is to remind her, through the actions above, that there is no glory to be found except under rule of your kingship. Take her to your castle balcony and show her the hordes of women streaming from the hinterlands to get through your fortress gate.

• She bitches at you for minor offenses.

Anytime you notice her aggravation threshold for your antics getting lower, you can bet your bronzed boner that your antics are not the problem — she is annoyed that she no longer feels turned on by you. Women resent men who stop making them horny, in much the same way men resent their wives for getting fat and ruining their sexual experience. Of coures, women are constitutionally incapable of expressing the real reasons for their shriveling libido in your company, so it manifests as a vague annoyance with your tics and quirks that once charmed her pants off.

Solution: Think of everything negative coming out of her mouth as a shit test, and respond as the trained master of muff you are. She’s that little brat you don’t take seriously. Under no circumstance should you attempt to change your quirky habits to placate her; this will only result in more annoyance and more demands for compliance with her ever-growing list of complaints.

• You’ve caught her in flagrante delicto

Major red flag.

Solution: Laugh at them. It works!